Page 7

SEVEN

HELENA

H elena’s throat felt tight as she opened her eyes. Moonlight streamed through tall windows draped with heavy burgundy curtains, illuminating an unfamiliar room with honey-colored stone walls and ornate wooden furniture. A four-poster bed with silken sheets cradled her body.

Where the hell am I?

She pushed herself up on her elbows, wincing at the ache spreading through her muscles. A coughing fit suddenly seized her, bending her forward as she struggled to clear her airways.

“Easy now.” A woman appeared beside the bed, offering a crystal glass of water. “Small sips only.”

The woman had dark hair pulled into a neat bun, her crisp black dress resembling some kind of uniform. Helena accepted the water gratefully, letting the cool liquid soothe her raw throat.

“Better?” the woman asked softly.

Helena nodded, finding her voice. “Who are you?”

“I’m Deina. I’ve been assigned as your personal servant during your stay.”

“My personal—“ Helena glanced around the opulent bedroom. Tapestries depicting nature scenes adorned the walls, and delicate silver candelabras sat atop antique wooden surfaces. “Where am I exactly?”

Deina smoothed her already immaculate dress. “You’re in the Prince’s castle, within his territory.”

Helena’s head spun. “The Prince? What prince? Why would a prince want me at his castle?”

Deina approached a large wardrobe and pulled out a green sundress. “The Prince rescued you from a fire in the city just beyond our borders. He happened to be there on business and brought you here for your recovery.”

Fire. The word triggered a cascade of memories—the kitchen, the gas stove, flames leaping unnaturally high and reaching for her. The restaurant. Oh god, the restaurant.

“The fire!” Helena threw back the covers and stood up, ignoring the dizziness that followed. “The restaurant—is everyone okay? How bad was the damage?”

Deina gently guided Helena back to sitting on the bed’s edge. “The Prince pulled you from the building while you were unconscious. Everyone is safe. The fire was eventually extinguished.”

Helena’s fingers trembled as she accepted the green sundress. “I need to call my coworkers. They must be worried sick about me.”

“In due time.” Deina gestured toward an arched doorway leading to the bathroom. “First, you should take a nice, soothing bath, and then change into that comfortable sundress.”

As Helena followed Deina into a lavish bathroom, more questions bubbled up. “So this prince just... what? Rescues random restaurant workers and takes them to his castle? That’s not weird at all.”

“He’s known for his generosity,” Deina said as she started the bath water. “He wanted to personally oversee your recovery.”

Helena surveyed the large copper clawfoot tub as steam rose from the water. This place was beyond luxurious. Definitely not what she was accustomed to in her practical lifestyle.

“And when do I get to meet this mysterious Prince Charming who whisked me away?” Helena wrapped her arms tighter around herself, suddenly aware she was wearing unfamiliar silk pajamas. “And who changed my clothes?”

“That was me,” Deina replied, handing Helena a fluffy towel. “And you’ll get to meet the Prince soon enough.”

Helena’s mind raced as she pieced together the bizarre situation. One minute, she had been in her restaurant kitchen with Victor, the next she was waking up in some castle fit for royalty. The timeline seemed impossible, yet here she was about to take a bath while a personal servant waited on her.

“Wait—is Victor the prince you’re talking about?” Helena asked, watching Deina test the water temperature.

Deina’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion crossing her face. “Victor? I don’t know anyone by that name. The Prince has been the ruler of this territory for many years.”

Helena considered this new information. “So, the man who now owns my restaurant isn’t the same person who brought me here?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about your restaurant,” Deina replied, adding fragrant bath salts to the steaming water. “The Prince simply instructed me to tend to your needs until you’re well enough to join him.”

Helena ran her small hand through her tangled hair. Of course—it made perfect sense.

“He must go by Victor when he’s conducting business,” Helena muttered, more to herself than to Deina. “I guess that’s what millionaire princes do—use different identities when buying restaurants.”

Deina’s expression remained neutral as she arranged more fluffy towels beside the tub. “The bath is ready, miss. I’ll wait outside while you refresh yourself.”

Left alone, Helena slipped out of the borrowed silk pajamas and eased herself into the copper tub. The hot water enveloped her body, releasing the tension in her muscles. Steam rose around her, carrying the scent of lavender and vanilla.

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” she whispered, sinking deeper into the water. “My new boss is some kind of royalty who rescued me from the fire and brought me to his castle. What is this, a fairy tale?”

She examined her arms and body, searching for burns or evidence of her close encounter with the flames. Strangely, her skin was unmarked, and other than her brief coughing fit, her lungs felt surprisingly clear and she was breathing normally. How had she escaped without injury? The memory of the fire rising unnaturally high from the stove haunted her. Just like on her birthday—flames that seemed to extend toward her rather than away.

She dunked her head beneath the surface, willing the water to wash away her troubling thoughts. When she emerged, she focused on the practical. Victor—or whatever his name really was—had saved her life. At minimum, she owed him a thank you before finding her way back to reality.

After finishing her bath, she dried herself and slipped into the green sundress Deina had provided. The fabric felt luxurious against her skin, the cut somehow perfectly suited to her curvy figure. She examined herself in the ornate mirror. The dress complemented her pale skin and made her hazel eyes appear more green than brown. Her damp red hair hung in loose waves past her shoulders.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Deina waited with a silver brush in hand.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing to Helena’s hair.

Helena hesitated, then nodded, allowing Deina to guide her to a cushioned seat at a vanity table. Gentle hands worked through her tangles with surprising efficiency.

“So, when exactly can I meet this mysterious prince?” Helena asked, watching Deina’s reflection in the mirror.

“After your hair is dry, I’ll escort you to dinner,” Deina replied, her motions rhythmic and soothing. “He’s eager to see that you’ve recovered.”

Helena sighed. “I guess I can’t exactly refuse dinner with the man who saved my life, even if it is my new boss who lied about his identity.”

Deina’s hands paused momentarily before resuming their work. “I’m sure all your questions will be answered soon enough.”

Helena sat perfectly still as Deina’s nimble fingers worked through her long hair, applying gentle pressure against her scalp with each stroke of the brush. The rhythmic motion was almost hypnotic, and despite her confusion about the bizarre situation, Helena found herself relaxing slightly.

“Would you like your hair up or down for dinner?” Deina asked, catching Helena’s gaze in the vanity mirror.

“Down is fine,” Helena replied. “Really, you don’t need to fuss over me.”

Deina smiled knowingly. “The Prince appreciates beauty. It would be a shame not to highlight yours.”

Helena felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m not trying to impress anyone. I just want answers.”

“And you’ll have them soon.” Deina set down the brush and reached for a small velvet pouch. She withdrew a collection of cosmetics that looked far more expensive than anything Helena had ever purchased.

“Is the makeup really necessary?” Helena shifted uncomfortably.

“Just a touch,” Deina insisted. “To bring out what’s already there.”

Helena sighed and allowed Deina to proceed, feeling increasingly out of her element. The chef in her was accustomed to practical ponytails and minimal makeup that wouldn’t melt under kitchen heat. This level of pampering was foreign territory.

Twenty minutes later, Helena barely recognized her reflection. Deina had applied just enough cosmetics to enhance her features without looking overdone. Her hazel eyes appeared brighter, framed by subtly darkened lashes, and her lips shimmered with a rosy tint. The green dress complemented her fair complexion and made her red hair look like living flames cascading over her shoulders.

“There,” Deina announced, stepping back to admire her work. “Simply radiant.”

Helena touched her face lightly. “I look like someone else.”

“No,” Deina corrected. “You look exactly like yourself—just enhanced.”

With gentle insistence, Deina guided Helena through the castle’s stone corridors. Their footsteps echoed against marble floors as they passed tapestries depicting forest scenes and fierce wolves. Suits of armor stood sentinel at regular intervals, their metal surfaces gleaming in the light of wall-mounted sconces.

“This place is massive,” Helena whispered. “How old is it?”

“Parts date back centuries,” Deina replied. “The Prince’s family has maintained it for generations.”

They approached a set of double doors carved with intricate woodland scenes. Two uniformed men stood guard, bowing slightly as Deina and Helena approached. With a synchronized movement, they pulled the doors open.

Helena stepped into a vast dining hall dominated by a long wooden table beneath a chandelier dripping with crystals. Candles illuminated the space with a warm, flickering glow. Her attention, however, fixed immediately on the man standing at the far end of the table.

Not Victor. Sol.

The same dark brown hair, short on the sides and fuller on top. The same neatly trimmed beard and mustache framing a strong jawline. The same broad shoulders beneath an impeccably tailored suit. The same man who’d flirted with her at the restaurant—who she’d thought was just some charming stranger.

His intense green eyes locked with hers across the distance, and Helena felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her body. He wasn’t just looking at her, he was devouring her with his gaze, an unmistakable hunger in his expression tempered with something that resembled reverence.

“You?” Helena stopped cold, her hand flying to her chest. “You’re the Prince?”

Sol remained silent, his eyes traveling slowly from her face down to her feet and back up again. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his hands flexed at his sides. He looked like a predator barely restraining himself.

“What is this?” Helena demanded, finding her voice. “First you show up at my restaurant making me believe you’re my new boss, then you somehow rescue me from the fire, and now I wake up in your castle? Are you stalking me or something?”

Sol still didn’t answer but took a deliberate step toward her. His movements were fluid, almost too graceful for such a powerfully built man. The look in his eyes made Helena’s breath catch—it was possessive, protective, and primal all at once.

“This isn’t funny,” Helena insisted, trying to ignore the way her heart raced at his approach. “I want answers. Now.”